What would have happened in the Falklands if Thatcher had been a man?

Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands 40 years ago. I had joined the Daily Telegraph as a reporter in 1979 and was by then a leader writer. The Falklands was the first really seismic story I had encountered. What made it so exciting was that it was both genuinely absurd and genuinely important. The absurdity lay in Argentina’s vainglory. It violently claimed a right to the islands which not one single Falklands resident accepted. Its caudillo, General Galtieri, was from the comic-opera school of Latin American dictators, covered with gold braid and frequently drunk. In his invasion broadcast, he invoked the Virgin Mary. But Our Lady wisely ducked the contest, leaving the Iron Lady to sort it out. The importance lay in the prodigious feat of British arms projected over 8,000 miles, the triumph of Margaret Thatcher and the consequent effect on the Cold War.

I realise it is inglorious to fight a war in Fleet Street, but I must also admit that it was great fun. Passions ran high. You had to be very educated or very left-wing, or both, not to feel that Argentine aggression must be punished and the islands recaptured. Led by members of the Utley family, I assisted the composition of a patriotic song which we sang in the King and Keys, the unpleasant pub next door, to the tune of ‘The Red Flag’. One stanza, composed by my wife, Caroline, went thus: ‘The Falklands cliffs are lined with sheep,/ Who wildly contemplate the deep,/ And meditate an icy plunge,/ Should Britain now throw up the sponge./ Now Britons all, be strong and bold,/ Restore these lambs to native fold,/ For ’neath their dirty fleeces hide/ Hearts that swell with loyal pride.’